Behind Crystal Bars
by SlaveoftheFrostQueen
Summary: Bobby finds himself imprisoned by the Mutant Liberation Front with the last person in the world he'd want as a cellmate. BobbyEmma WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Behind Crystal Bars**

_Chapter One_

It was dark and cold and there was a throbbing pain that was unrelenting as it coursed its way through the core of his brain. It reminded him of the hangover he had suffered from the night after Warren's birthday bash. Though, of course, the next morning he had merely iced himself and then deiced and had been perfectly fine, much to the chagrin of his teammates who, with the exception of Logan, had promptly told him that he was very disliked on days such as those. He hadn't taken it to heart and had reminded them all that as much as they said it now, there was only one Bobby Drake and they would miss him when he was gone.

Thinking the headache to be the result of a night of drinking with the guys that he somehow had trouble recalling, Bobby let out a low groan and tried to ice up. He was surprised to find that he couldn't and forced himself to open his eyes. Instead of the nicely painted ceiling and framed poster from the original Star Wars trilogy that he woke up to every day, he found himself staring at the underside of a bunk bed. The mattress was old and stained with things Bobby didn't want to venture into. He made to turn his head, but instead slammed his eyes shut as pain raced across his temples, behind his eyes, and accumulated on the bridge of his nose and to a spot on the side of his forehead. Moving his arm, he ran slow, aching fingers over the painful areas and found that he had the mother of all goose eggs perched lightly on his head, with a cut in the middle that was sore to the touch. He moved to his nose and found that it was swollen with a small cut on the bridge, but it didn't feel broken, thankfully.

Now fully aware that this was no hangover he was suffering from, Bobby tried again to open his eyes. He moved his head slowly, gingerly, as to not flare up the pain again. When he had his head turned to the side, he took in the site of the unfamiliar room. It wasn't big, in fact, it was quite small. The bars blocking him in did nothing to soothe his sudden flare of panic at not knowing where he was. It was dark, something Bobby was grateful for, knowing that if the lights were on, he'd probably be in a lot more pain than he was in now. He couldn't see that far beyond the bars, but he saw light coming from underneath a door a little ways down a hall.

_This can't be good, _Bobby thought to himself, sighing as he knew he would have to sit up and take in the situation. He reached up for the support of the bunk he was sitting on and before his head could protest, he pulled himself up, ignoring the flare of pain that accompanied his movements. When he was in a sitting position, he waited for the dizziness and encroaching darkness at the corners of his eyes to recede. When they finally did, he took stock of his body. Nothing felt broken, though he was sure that his right ankle was sprained at least. He noticed he was wearing gray scrubs and was barefoot. He reached up to feel his neck, noticing for the first time that there was extra weight there. He groaned out loud when he felt the power inhibitor there. That would explain his inability to ice up.

Suddenly at a loss of what to do, he reached up and covered his eyes with his hands, pushing his palms in deeply to try and quench the squeeze of pain in his mind. What had happened? He tried to think of how he got here, and where exactly _here_ was. He remembered a fight, a rather brutal one. The X-Men had been called out to help handle an anti-mutant protest that had gotten out of hand. The rioters had taken to the streets, attacking any mutant they could find. Bobby had gone with Logan and Piotr. It got fuzzy after that. They had somehow managed to be surrounded by rioters and not wanting to hurt anyone, Bobby had gone to put up an ice shield. Logan had called his name. And that was all Bobby could remember.

So how had he wound up here? And where were the others? He hoped they were all right. He pushed thoughts of his teammates being injured, or worse, out of his mind and focused on trying to find a way out of this whole thing. But as he looked around, he felt a sudden heavy weight in his head and had to close his eyes to prevent the room from tilting. He sighed as he realized that he most likely had a concussion. This was not good, not good at all. Years of listening to Scott's anal talks about what to do when you found yourself in situations such of these were running through Bobby's mind. But all he could seem to focus on was Scott's voice in his head yelling for Bobby to be aware of his surroundings at all time. Damnit, he hadn't been. And it had cost him.

Another wave of dizziness made Bobby groan out loud and he felt his stomach churning. He pried open his eyes and eyed the steel toilet on the other side of the room. It was just a dash away, not far, but it came down to what he cared about more, the flopping stomach or the pounding head. In the end, his stomach won and Bobby sprang off the bed, crashing down in front of the toilet just in time as the contents of his stomach forced their way up and out. He wretched heavily and felt bursting pains in his head with every body wrenching heave. It lasted for a few minutes and when he was done, he collapsed to the side, resting his throbbing head on his arms, which were splayed up on the toilet still. His whole body ached and somewhere in the back of his mind, he had confirmed the sprained ankle theory in his dash to the toilet.

How was it that he always found himself in these situations? Why was he the one that always wound up needing to be saved? Couldn't he be the hero for once? It was always someone else who the kids at Xavier's school looked up to with bright, wide eyes. It was always Warren, swooping in angelically to save the damsel, or the occasional dude, in distress. Or Logan who hacked and slashed his way through anything to pull friends from the fire, or Piotr who held you close in his arms, saying that everything would be all right, that he would take care of things. Whenever Bobby said everything would be all right, no one ever believed him. No one trusted him to make things all right, and in a way, Bobby didn't even trust himself to do such a thing. He was never the hero, never. He was just another average player on the team, who didn't score goals or make highlight plays. No, he was just the player who sat on the bench, every once in a while shouting out an encouraging cheer that everyone promptly ignored.

Bobby shook his head slightly, knowing that his thoughts were drifting down dangerous paths. He couldn't start these thoughts this early. He at least had to try before he gave into his despair. But the heavy weight of his battered head was weighing down and him and he managed to pull himself back into the bottom bunk rather sluggishly, something Toad would have been proud of, though the thought made Bobby feel like vomiting again, before sleep overcame him.

When he woke again, it was to a sudden turning on of rather harsh, bright lights that he could see even through his eyelids. The pain was a bit more bearable as he remembered where he was. He slit open his eyes, testing their reaction to light. It took him a bit, but he finally managed to bring them open, though he couldn't do so without squinting. He brought a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes and winced as he remembered the bruises and cuts that he had discovered the night before.

A door opened somewhere and all thought of pain left Bobby's mind as he snapped his head towards the sound. He found that with the lights on, he could actually see a bit down the hall that he was separated from by the bars. The door was open and a man with four arms was heading his way. Bobby thought that he should probably recognize who this mutant was, but he couldn't for the life of him remember his name. He cursed himself for not looking through the mutant database as carefully as Xavier had suggested all X-Men do.

The mutant came to stand on the other side of the bars and Bobby hefted himself to his feet, feeling slightly dizzy still, but managing to stay standing.

"So you finally decide to join the living again, eh?" he said with a sinister smile. He cracked his knuckles on all four hands and grabbed the bars. "Just in time too." With one hand, he reached for the security card that hung around his neck. "You're gonna have company."

"Who are you?" Bobby demanded, watching as the mutant swiped the card and there was a click, but he didn't open the bars.

"Me?" The mutant asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. "I'm offended Ice freak. I thought all you X-Men were supposed to know everything." He paused for a moment. "Our luck to catch the slacker." Bobby frowned slightly at that, but tried to keep his emotions out of his face, not wanting the other to know that his choice of words had actually struck deep into Bobby's inner demons. "The name's Forearm," the mutant said, finally opening the bars.

Bobby couldn't help the slight scoff that slipped at the name. He'd heard the alias before, but that was about all he could remember about this other mutant. He wished he could remember if there were any other mutant powers besides the creepy extra set of arms…

Apparently, Forearm didn't like to be scoffed at as he rushed forward, grabbing Bobby around the neck with one hand, holding his wrists with to others and slammed him against the wall of his cell with a resounding smack of his head. Bobby closed his eyes and blocked out the sound of rushing blood that was raging in his ears. The new hit to the head was doing nothing for his concussion. He opened his eyes to find Forearm had a finger pointed at his face. "You listen to me, now," he growled and gave Bobby another slam, not as hard, just for good measure. "I ain't one to dance around pleasantries. You give me trouble and I'll make sure you find yourself in a world of hurt. The only reason you're not dead is because the boss seems to think you're X-Men buddies will come looking for you, though I have my doubts."

Bobby was only half listening as he realized that Forearm was deliberately squeezing his neck tighter and tighter, the skin pinching around the inhibitor already in place there. Bobby was trying to suck in breath, but he couldn't get enough and his head started to get foggy. He barely noticed when Forearm suddenly let go of him and let him drop to the floor in a heap. He drew in harsh, ragged breaths, filling his lungs to capacity and letting it out just as quickly. _Come on Drake, you're gonna hyperventilate if you don't concentrate,_ He told himself.

He was still on his hands and knees when he heard the bars being shut again. He listened to two pairs of feet walk off and the door shut before he muttered curses towards the other mutant under his breath. He was glad Ororo wasn't there to hear them. He could just picture the Egyptian beauty crossing her arms and tapping her foot, telling him that if his mother were to hear those words coming out of his mouth, she'd smack him upside the head. He nearly laughed at the truth behind the statement.

"You start acting like a dog, panting there on the floor, Robert, and they'll start treating you like one," a voice said and Bobby froze, already knowing who the voice belonged to. He closed his eyes and prayed that his mind was playing tricks on him before he slowly opened them again and turned his head to see who was now occupying the cell with him. He groaned, for the umpteenth time as his assumptions were proven correct.

There, sitting on the bottom bunk, in the same gray scrubs he was wearing, but somehow pulling them off, was Emma Frost, looking highly unamused by the whole situation. She wore an inhibitor around her neck, the same way he did, and aside from the disgusted look she had on her face, she appeared to be unharmed. Bobby was about to stop the snide comment in his head, out of habit from when Emma was around, but then remembered that she couldn't use her powers, so he let it flow anyway.

"What are you doing here?" He said, his voice more curt than he had meant it to be. But Emma Frost seemed to have that effect on him.

Emma crossed her legs and attempted to appear sophisticated, which she managed to pull off, Bobby gave her that. She turned up her nose at him and let out a gruff laugh. "Come now, Robert, are you that disappointed to see me?"

"Yes," Bobby said without missing a beat. He carefully picked himself up off the floor, leaning against the wall for support. His head was spinning again. But he forced the pain out of his face. He hated being weak, but he especially hated being weak around Emma Frost. She had a way of playing with that weakness and throwing it back in your face and Bobby certainly didn't want that. "Of all the people it could have been, it had to be you." Bobby said, shooting her a obtrusive glare.

Emma gave a snobbish chuckle and put a hand to her chest. "You flatter me, Drake. But surely there are worse cell mates than me. After all, I can offer certain…pleasantries."

Bobby feigned a gag, though his stomach revolted at the motion and he nearly did gag, but managed to get himself under control. "Trust me, Emma, there is nothing you can offer that I would take." His head suddenly felt heavy again and he sat down heavily onto the toilet, leaning back against the wall and looking down the hallway towards the door. If he weren't feeling like crap, he probably would have thought about hackling the guards he assumed were right outside of that door. But as it was, he was tired. He wanted to sleep and he wanted Emma to get out of his bed.

Emma, surprising Bobby, was quiet for a few minutes. He had expected her to go on with the exchange of insults and snide remarks, but she didn't. He was half glad and closed his eyes, letting the silence do the talking for him. But, even when she wasn't talking or infiltrating his mind against his will, Emma still found her way into his thoughts. He hated the way she did that. She didn't need psychic powers to do so either, it was just her, just plain Emma. As much as Bobby said he hated the woman and despised being in the same room as her, there was something about her that made Bobby unable to focus on anything else. It wasn't like they were strangers. In fact, he was sure that Emma knew more about him than he knew about himself. She had, after all, taken over his body at one time and used his powers in ways that he never thought possible. He'd once demanded that she tell him how to use his powers, but she had refused, something which had infuriated him and had fueled that innate anger he had towards her. But there was also the way that she constantly infiltrated his mind, forcing her presence on him and messing with his head. It took a lot of effort to not succumb to Emma's will.

When Emma had moved into the mansion, Bobby had nearly lost it. She had stirred things up, moving in. Not many had agreed with Professor Xavier's decision to let her stay, given her past with most of the students and team there. Scott and Jean had already been having problems, but when Emma showed up and had shown interest in Scott, it had thrown a wrench into the gears. Bobby had never seen Scott and Jean fight so much. It was disturbing to say the least. Warren had never gotten along with Emma. Not with their professional finances at odds with each other. And most people just didn't get along with Emma's prudent, uptight attitude. She was quick to point out the flaws in people, and in the X Mansion, viewpoints like that never went over well.

"Perhaps we started this off wrong," Emma said, bringing Bobby back to the present. He realized he had been drifting off. He opened his eyes and found Emma watching him. Her frosty blue eyes were prying into him and he wondered if she had seen him start to drift off. But there was also another look on her face. Was that worry he saw there? He gave a chuckle out loud that came out more of a strained moan that a laugh. Emma frowned and leaned forward. "Like it or not, we are here together. If we plan on getting out of here…"

Bobby really did moan this time as he pushed himself off the toilet. He didn't want to hear what Emma had to say about working together. In fact, he really didn't want to hear what Emma had to say period. But he knew she wouldn't let him rest until they at least explored the option of escape. "What are you even doing here anyway?"

Emma shrugged, though a smirk had crossed her face. "Charles asked me to come out and help. Since I was in the area, I decided to do just that."

"Help with the riots?" Bobby closed his eyes again. His own voice sounded as though he had cotton in his ears. God, he just wanted to lay down. But she was on his bed.

"That was your work, dear," Emma said, her voice sounding as though she were a mile away. Bobby tried to concentrate. "I was called in to deal with the mutant terrorists."

"There were terrorists?" Bobby asked, though he barely registered that he had asked a question at all. He felt himself waver on his feet and suddenly there was a hand on his arm, holding him upright. The world was still spinning around him and the hand guided him downwards. He thought about protesting until he felt the semi-softness of the bed. He laid down without being told to do so. He felt a hand gently move the hair out of his eyes and he was mildly aware that the hand belonged to Emma. But for the moment, he didn't care who the hand belonged to, or where they were, or what had happened. Right now, Bobby just wanted to sleep.

He heard Emma's voice ring clear as crystal, however, right before he fell asleep. "It's all right," she whispered in his ear. And he was torn between being comforted and finding once again that he wasn't the one who had said those words.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

When he woke again, his head was less fuzzy, though it still felt as though he'd been mauled by Juggernaut, which was a pain he was unfortunately familiar with. Hank had teased him mercilessly after it had happened saying that not many people knew what it was like to be mauled with the force of a locomotive. Bobby had just laughed and had called him an old timer for using the word locomotive. There was a twinge of sadness as Bobby wished Hank was here now to poke fun at him. He could only imagine the things Hank could come up with this time around. He tried to imagine what his blue furred friend would say, but another thought entered his mind. Where was Emma?

Sitting up a bit too fast, Bobby put a hand to his head and waited for the room to stop spinning before he pushed himself to his feet. His ankle protested the movement, but Bobby cursed it and told it to shut up. He looked towards the top bunk, half expecting Emma to be laying there, posing like a model, and snapping something witty and dangerous towards him. But the bed was empty, the gray wool blanket tucked into the farthest corner. He sighed and looked around. A part of him was glad for the reprieve of Emma's dominating presence, but another part of him wished she was still there, if only so he wouldn't be alone in this strange, dangerous place.

Bobby sat back down on the bed and sighed, running a hand over his bruised face and through his hair. He was less disoriented now than he had been when he had first woken up. Before, he hadn't wanted to think about anything, but now his mind was in overdrive, waking up from it's abuse, and ready for action. He needed to find a way out of this. He needed to find out what had happened to Logan and Piotr and he needed to find Emma. Deep down in his gut, the last thing became priority. He needed to find out where they took Emma. He felt the reminiscence of her hand lightly brushing his head until he fell asleep. It was very uncharacteristic of the image he had built of Emma in his mind, but he wasn't surprised that she had comforted him. Emma was egotistical, snobbish, prude, and could even be considered cruel at sometimes. But she wasn't heartless. Though that side of Emma rarely showed.

The door down the hall opened and Bobby looked towards who had entered. Forearm and another girl were walking down the hall, towards the cell where Bobby was being kept. The girl had short cut red hair and an angular face. She reminded Bobby of a younger Jean, when he had first met her. That lanky, not really fitting into her body, type of adolescence. She couldn't have been older than 18. She had a smirk on her face which reminded him of Jubilee and he sighed. He could tell this would be interesting to say the least.

"Hey, Ice Freak," Forearm mocked, stringing two of his arms through the bars to lean lazily against them. Bobby chewed on his tongue and leaned back on the bed, trying to feign disinterest. "You bored without that pretty little plaything we gave you last night?" Forearm's wicked drawl made Bobby clench a fist. "She was a real treat, wasn't she? They don't get much better looking than that."

"I didn't notice," Bobby said nonchalantly, pretending to pick at a scab on his hand. He wondered when he had gotten that. There seemed to be a lot of hurts he didn't remember getting lately.

"Yeah, right," Forearm said with a sadistic chuckle. "Well then, maybe I'll keep her all to myself."

Bobby snorted. Yeah, Emma would really go for that. "Good luck," he said sarcastically, grinning when he saw the look of anger flash across Forearm's face. Perhaps that wasn't the response he was going for. Was he trying to anger Bobby? Anger Bobby with threats towards Emma? Sure, he would be worried, but Emma was strong. Stronger than most people he knew. She had her head on right, maybe a little too right. She never let things get to her. That's what always fascinated Bobby about her. And it was always infuriated him.

"Yeah…well…" Forearm seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"Shut up," the girl next to him snapped. "Open this door," she said, looking straight into Bobby's eyes. Bobby didn't like what he saw there. He saw spunk, danger, sass, and a hyper teenager who was given power without the proper instructions on how to use it. He recognized the look from a lot of the newcomers to Xavier's Institute. Heck, it was a look he had once held in his eyes. A part of him missed that look, that feeling. But a part of him was also tired, so extremely tired.

"Don't tell me what to do, Skids," Forearm hissed, but unlocked the cell doors anyway. Skids, her name was, ignored him and stepped into the cell to stand right in front of Bobby. He thought about lunging at her, tackling her, bringing her to the ground. But Forearm was standing right behind her, his massive arms ready to take on anything. Bobby didn't like those arms. He still had the bruises around his neck to remind him.

Skids stood with her hands on her hips, the shirt she wore showed off her flat, tone stomach. She stared down Bobby for a moment, neither one of them saying anything. "How's it feel to know that you're the reason all of your little friends are going to die?" She asked, her voice steady, her eyes playful. Bobby didn't know how people could be so sadistic sometimes. He'd only just met the girl and already he didn't like her.

Shrugging in answer he leaned forward. "The same way it feels to know that if this inhibitor weren't around my neck, I could freeze your body, snap off your fingers, slow down your heart and watch you melt all in the blink of an eye." Bobby said coldly, knowing that he could probably do those things, but he would never admit that he didn't have it in him to be that cruel, no matter how much he hated someone. But he'd never let this little spitfire know that.

Skids glowered and twitched her head towards Forearm, who came around her quickly and grabbed Bobby before he had a chance to protest. A hand was wrapped around his neck once more. Bobby brought up his arms, but two hands grabbed his wrists. A fist found it's way to his face, cracking his head sideways on impact, sending sharp pains through his neck and jaw. He grunted, but decided that was the only sound they'd get out of him this time around. Two more punches and suddenly Bobby found himself flying across the room. He barely registered it before he was slamming harshly into the wall with a crunch that rattled him inside and out. He fell to the floor, smacking his forehead and seeing stars. He wondered how many times a person could be hit in the head before there was permanent damage. Wouldn't that be something. The first brain damaged X-Men…besides Scott of course. But did that really even count?

A foot connected with Bobby's ribs, sending him into a spiral of pain that forced him to curl in upon himself. Hands were grabbing at him, yanking him to his feet, pinning him against the wall. A strong hand held his jaw and forced him to look forward. He didn't like being manhandled like this, but there was hardly anything else he could do at the moment. If only he could use his powers…

"Enough," Skids spat and the onslaught stopped, leaving Bobby curled on the floor, trying to keep the pain from making him cry out. He watched as Skids' feet came over to him and she squatted next to him, running a hand through his hair. He flinched away at her touch and scowled the best he could with the new bruises and cuts on his face. "We don't want to kill him," she said, still brushing her fingers through Bobby's hair. "Not yet. Stryfe still needs him."

_Stryfe? _Bobby's mind instantly kicked on again. It suddenly made sense to him. Emma had mentioned something about terrorists last night, something that he had really caught onto in his cloud of abuse and injury. But now, he could think clearly, or partially clearly, and it made sense. Stryfe was leading some new group around, the Mutant Liberation Front. He'd heard about it, seen the damage that they'd done, but the X-Men, thus far, hadn't had contact with them. But if Stryfe was behind this, that meant they were up against a very formidable foe. Stryfe they'd fought before, but Stryfe with his own terrorist group? That couldn't be a good thing.

"You work for that idiot?" Bobby managed to mumble out. It earned him another kick to the gut that jarred his teeth into each other. Bobby focused on staying conscious. The last thing he wanted now was to fall asleep again. He was actually making progress, learning what was going on. He was a step closer to freedom.

Skids grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled so that he was looking up at her. "Yes, and you will too, eventually." She grinned wickedly and Bobby could only frown. There was no way he would work for Stryfe, that was for certain. "He can be very, convincing."

"I don't see why he'd want a wimp like him, anyway," Forearm grumbled from where he stood. "We couldn't have gotten that Wolverine what's-his-face or that hot red head. We had to get the crummy ice guy who doesn't even know how to use his own powers."

"Shut up," Skids hissed as if Forearm had said too much. Bobby was a bit lost as to what was going on, but he tried to focus on what they were saying. So Stryfe's plan was to get him to join the MLF? Yeah right, that'd be the day. Sure, there were certain things about the X-Men that pissed him off, but he would never join a terrorist group. Not even if it was to save his own life. So Bobby narrowed his options down to two. Die in here, or escape. Rescue wasn't an option at the moment. He couldn't depend on anyone to come in here and get him, though he half expected Hank or Warren to burst in here any minute and take him home and fix him up. Yeah, that'd be nice. Just like the old days.

Distantly, Bobby heard a door open and close. He heard the shuffling of feet, a feminine grunt of pain and the squeaking of a bed as someone fell onto it. Distantly he wondered why, if Stryfe wanted him, Emma was here. Would they kill her? Would they do terrible things to her? Distantly, he wondered why the thought brought such a panic to his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. His body hurt anew, his head ached like it had when he had woken up that first day. He could still feel Skids' hand on his head and Forearm's feet hovering nearby, teasing him with the prospect of a kick to the ribs, to the back, to the face. Bobby cringed at the thought of getting kicked in the face. He'd like to keep at least some of his facial features in tact. Though as soon as the inhibitor was off his neck, he could ice up and fix whatever damage they'd do, but he wasn't looking forward to it. It wasn't an easy process as everyone seemed to think it was. It hurt. And it hurt a lot.

"So," Skids seemed to be talking to someone else, her voice traveling away from him. Bobby was grateful for that. He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted Warren to come into his room, shake him awake, and tell him to stop sleeping in and that it was time for a party. He wanted Scott to slam a hand down on his desk, catching him sleeping again while he was in between classes. He wanted to wake up and find his students chuckling at him for having fallen asleep once again in the middle of a sentence. He wanted all these things, but he knew in the deepest part of his heart that it wasn't going to happen, not his time. Not when the pain was so real and so heavy.

And all of a sudden, Bobby realized someone was inside his head, bringing these thoughts to him. He closed his eyes and thought back to what Professor Xavier had said about mental blocks. He concentrated, concentrated, concentrated to get the other mind out of his. It was a painful mind that was invading his consciousness. One that was probing, deeply, but from a distance. It wasn't anyone in this room, but rather someone who was a bit further away, skimming the outer layer of what made up Bobby Drake and starting to bring inner demons and concerns to the surface. Bobby wouldn't let them win. He'd been up against psychics before and he wouldn't let this one win. Not now. At least not now.

With a mental block firmly in place, he turned his attention to the conversation that had been traversing in his absence. Skids had left his side, but Forearm had taken her place, a hand firmly pressed into the small of his back and another gripping his hair, shoving the side of his face into the ground. He didn't like it, but he didn't have the strength to fight back.

"You really seem to have thrown Moonstar for a loop," Skids was saying. "There's not many who can put up a block strong enough to stop Moonstar." There was praise in Skids voice and Bobby wanted to wipe that smirk he could mentally see off of her face.

"She's not as strong as she thinks," came Emma's smooth, confident voice. It was like a lullaby in Bobby's ears. One that he'd heard a thousand times, had gotten used to, had been torn away from, and now had been reunited with. He was happy, no, exuberant to hear her voice. He fought back the thoughts of abandonment and concentrated on the now. Emma was here, she was okay, that meant there was still hope. He wasn't alone. He wanted to laugh at the new dependency he felt towards the woman. But subconsciously he knew that a good part of these thoughts weren't his own. Someone was amplifying his despair. He wished they would get out of his head.

"Or maybe she was holding back," Skids said and he heard her walking towards the door. "Let's go, Forearm. Leave these two to plot revenge while they still can. Tomorrow, that Ice Freak is going to be working for us."

The hand on his lower back lifted and Bobby felt like a new man. He felt, cleaner, for lack of a better word. But there was still the matter of the hand that had entwined in his hair. He waited for the hand to let go, for Forearm to walk away and leave him to lay there in ache and angst and torment. He was ready to accept it. Ready for the pain to leave and for the ache to settle in. He was ready, mentally and physically. But Forearm didn't grant him that readiness. He lifted Bobby's head back so his neck was craned. Bobby let out a small sound of discomfort before Forearm shoved his head back to the ground. His forehead smacked fiercely and white light danced in front of his eyes. Spots glittered in front of him and the white light twisted and contorted to form pain and blood and bruises. Bobby felt like his eyes had burst in their sockets, like his head had split open, like his nose had shattered, fallen off and had been thrown back at him only to hit him in the head again. He felt like his lips had been ripped off, split, cracked, cut, pierced through with his teeth. His face was nothing but pain. No features, no feeling, just pain.

He wasn't aware that Forearm had let go and had disappeared down the hallway. He hadn't heard Skids smack him across the face for the brutality. He hadn't heard Emma mutter some profanity under her breath as Forearm passed her. He hadn't heard her continue to mutter as she made her way from the bed to the floor. And he hadn't noticed that she had started stroking his head and whispering to him. He only became aware of the latter when the white hot pain had faded into an ache so deep he thought his insides were clenching shut. His head was fuzzy, foggy, muffled, misted, everything and nothing. His brain was scrambled from the impact of his head against the floor, of the punches he'd received, of the everlasting effects of the concussion he knew had just been doubled, tripled, quadrupled.

But as Emma sat beside him, stroking his head and whispering words he couldn't understand, he felt calm. The ache dulled beyond his consciousness and all he could hear was the soft whispers coming from Emma's mouth. God, that mouth. Some days he marveled in the words that come from between those lips and others he wanted to staple those two flaps of skin together and hear nothing more from her. Right now, it was all Bobby knew. Those red lips against those snowy teeth. Wisps of air escaping between them, forming syllables, sounds that he couldn't understand. But they were calming, they soothed him, and he listened as if he could hear.

Bobby didn't know how long they stayed like that. He must have fallen asleep sometime through it all. He woke once, though only partially, to the sounds of voices. One he didn't recognize but thought he should, and one that he had come to know and love and cling to. She had been mad, angered, but pleading. He'd never heard her voice like that before. There was the sound of a door closing and Bobby was asleep again.

When he woke again, he was laying on his back and there was a cold cloth brushing his face. He felt the cold cement floor beneath his legs, but his shoulders and head were propped on something soft, someone soft. When he tried to open his eyes, he found that he couldn't. They weighed the weight of the world and try as he might, he couldn't lift them. He remembered what had happened and once he realized that it was Emma who, once again, was taking care of him, telling him everything was all right, he let out a low groan.

"Robert?" The voice pierced through the fuzz that he hadn't known was covering his ears. Slowly, his hearing came back. He heard some whir of a machine in the distance, something that hadn't been there before, but he didn't know or care what it was. He heard Emma's breathing, calm, but hitched. "Robert?" Her voice came again and he wanted desperately to answer her. "Are you with me?" She asked, her voice quiet, as though she wasn't sure if he was really there.

Bobby let out a groan in response and tried again to open his eyes. With all the strength that he could possibly possess, he managed to pry them open. It was dark and he wasn't sure if the lights were out or if this was now something new he had to deal with. He hoped the lights were merely off. He tried to focus his eyes, hoping that any second now his vision would return. It took a bit, just long enough for Bobby to begin to accept the fate of the blind, but slowly small bits of white, pale yellow, and blue started to filter into Bobby's vision. It was blurry and he wasn't sure what he was looking at at first. But then, he finally realized that he was staring up into the face of Emma Frost. Her blonde hair fell down around them. Her eyes were scanning his face for life, for a sign that he wasn't totally gone, wasn't now just a shell of a man.

"Robert?" Her lips moved with grace that reminded Bobby of a ballet he had once seen as a kid. His father had taken him, told him to sit still and watch. Bobby had pouted and cried silently to himself at first. But then he'd gotten interested, watched them leap and bend and fold and move and dance and then he'd become fascinated and watched them act, sing, tell, say, show, create, simply dance. It was beautiful and mesmerizing and Emma Frost's lips were the same.

A small distressed sound escaped from those two lips and he saw that her brow was furrowed, worried. She moved those lips again and said his name for a final time, quieter, softer than she had said the last times she had been trying to call him back from oblivion. Bobby realized she was scared, for him. The thought made him feel warm when he didn't know he was cold. He tried to move, to reach up and let her know that he hadn't left, that he was still there. But his body was betraying him.

So he settled on trying to whisper her name. It came out garbled, too soft, and not even resembling her name in any sort and he took in a breath, forcing his body to work. He tried again and this time, he managed to get the point across. "Emma?" When her name escaped his mouth, she smiled, a brilliant, beautiful smile that Bobby had rarely seen on her. But she toned it down after a moment, reverting back to her old, arrogant self. Bobby found comfort in that. He needed something solid to hold onto and a new Emma would be too much for him.

"It's about time you decided to wake up," she said, moving the cold cloth from his forehead and looking down into his eyes. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."

"Worried?" Bobby whispered weakly.

"Only because I didn't want to have to drag your brain dead body out of here when I make my escape," Emma said, her voice teasing. Bobby closed his eyes. The image of Emma carrying him out of here made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. She had been worried. He felt guilty.

He started to lift himself off the ground, the whole room spinning as he did so. "Not…gone…yet," he said between grunts. Emma's hands were placed firmly on his shoulders, guiding him back down into a lying position, his head in her lap. He didn't have the strength to fight back.

"Easy," she said in a soft whisper as he settled back into his comfortable position. "As invincible as you think you are, you're hurt, Robert." She brushed a hand across his forehead and he felt the awkwardness of his own skin. He reached a shaky hand up and felt his face. There was swelling in places he didn't know could swell. There was a cut, deep, but freshly stitched, in the middle of his forehead. "Fourteen," Emma said.

Bobby frowned. "What?"

"Fourteen," she repeated. "It took fourteen stitches to patch up that head of yours."

"Hurts," Bobby mumbled as he ran his fingers along the stitches he now felt there. Emma gently took his wrist and guided his hand back down to his side. As she brought her hand back to his head, she ran her fingers along his body, slowly, gently, lovingly. He was used to advances made by Emma, but somehow, this one was different. Somehow he knew that she meant this one. He was once again struck by how odd it was that Emma had actually been worried, about him. He never would have believed it.

"Get some rest," she said. "Now that I know you aren't any more brain damaged than you already were," he snorted at the joke, "you should get some rest. From what information I have managed to gather from those twits, you are going to have quite a time ahead of you, dear."

Bobby frowned again. He didn't like the sound of that, but he was too tired to think about what that meant. He knew they were going to try to persuade him to join them and he didn't think that would go too gently. He didn't suppose he could just say he didn't want to and they'd accept his decision like responsible adults. But he didn't want to dwell on that now. He'd deal with it when the time came. Those "twits" like Emma called them didn't exactly scare him. He knew that Forearm was strong and could hurt him pretty bad, but if Stryfe wanted him for something, then Forearm couldn't do anything to him. That thought alone made Bobby smile on the inside.

But there was something that Bobby wanted to know and he didn't know how to ask it. So he settled with a simple, "What are you doing here?"

Emma sighed, her hand stopped stroking his hair. "We have already gone over this, Robert," she said calmly, though there was a tone in her voice that Bobby couldn't quite place. "Have you forgotten?"

"No," Bobby whispered, his eyes still closed. "I mean…if they want me to join them, what are _you_ doing here?"

Emma was quiet for a moment, the question lingering in the air. He could feel her tense beneath his head. He opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him, taking in his battered face, his possibly broken ribs, and his bruised hope. She gave a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes, like most Emma smiles. "I won't betray you, Robert," she whispered quietly. Bobby frowned, trying to concentrate on her face. He didn't understand.

"Emma?" he asked, willing her to go on.

"Get some rest," she said, her eyes empty now. Bobby was scared to see her like that. Something was going on, something that he didn't quite grasp. He hoped that things would start to make sense when he woke up again. But for right now, with his head in Emma's lap and her hand back to stroking his hair, Bobby closed his eyes and felt an uneasy sleep creep over him. And as he did, a strange thought occurred to him. He hoped Emma would be there when he woke up.


End file.
